Maturity
by deceptive-serenade
Summary: Rose Weasley has boobs? Well. That's new. Rose/Scorpius.
1. Chapter 1

**Maturity**

Rose Weasley has _boobs?_

Well.

That's new.

_Scorpius Malfoy:_

I'm going to give you a small insight to the mind of an eleven-year-old boy:

When we make fun of bushy-haired, buck-toothed, flat-chested, pimply, short and slightly chubby girls, we _never _– I repeat, in case you didn't get the enormity of this word – _never_ stop to think that said girls may look a little different in time.

I'm not kidding here.

That annoying little voice piping up from the front row, hand shot straight into the air like a bullet and just being a little know-it-all – we – okay, I – didn't think that she had the ability to change. Rose Weasley would always be the same, annoying little outspoken brat with bushy red hair I liked to dip down an inkwell.

I was wrong, of course. She did change.

The first change was in second year, when she came back from winter holidays with glasses. Now, they weren't that bad – they weren't nerdy or huge or anything – but that didn't stop me from calling her four-eyes. Nerd. Dork. Loser.

The second change was the summer after third year, when she came back with braces. I'd noticed the buckteeth a mile away, but then when she go the braces? Mother of Merlin, I thought I would never stop laughing – the girl just didn't let up, did she? She just gave me more and more excuses to tease her.

The more I made fun of her, the more frustrating it became. In the four years I'd been poking fun at her, taunting her in the hallways, hexing her robes open so everyone could see her lack of chest, calling her freckles spattergroit, dipping her hair in ink wells, playing pranks on her… she'd never retaliated. Not once had she stood up and shouted at me, or even told me to stop. The most she'd do is give me that wounded look, duck her head down and race away from me.

It was _infuriating._

I wanted to push her buttons. I wanted her to yell at me – Merlin, do you know how much I would've paid to see a Hufflepuff yell at me? I wanted to see her face bright red and her brace glinting in my face and the spattergroit dancing on her nose as the ink dripped onto her shirt while she finally cracked. I wanted the title:

Scorpius Malfoy – the one who brought out the Slytherin of Rose Weasley.

That shit'd be all over the newspapers.

Glorious.

I came back in fifth year with fresh insults, head bursting from the stuff I'd come up with from hanging out with my loser family friends. I wasn't going to give. This year. This year was the one I was going to break her and watch her shatter.

That is, until I saw her. I wasn't prepared for it – in fact, I'd expected her appearance to somehow get worse. Maybe she'd contract some sort of disease from having her nose stuck in a book and a stick lodged up her arse. Who knows.

Unfortunately, Weasley retaliated. Silently.

I didn't know. After getting off the train and making our way to the Great Hall, my eye caught a flash of red hair. I'd know it anywhere. I called to her, letting my voice carry through the crowd. "Oi, Ugly Weasley! Did you spend your summer in a dark corner, where no one can see you?"

The crowd stilled. My friends – cronies, really – sniggered, knowing what was coming. They knew Weasley was mine to torture; they merely settled for sitting back and enjoying the show. I smirked and crossed my arms as the crowd parted, watching what would happen next. They didn't dare interrupt.

That's when I saw her.

Her third change.

Her braces came off. I don't know what she did with her glasses, but they were gone, too. She lost a bit of that baby fat. She started wearing makeup. She did something to her hair.

And on top of that?

She got _boobs._

That was not okay.

She broke the rules. She wasn't supposed to come back to Hogwarts looking like – like _that_. She was supposed to come back looking worse. Like the last two years. Didn't she know her name? _Ugly_ Weasley. U-G-L-Y. Ugly. She couldn't just change that.

Her face crumpled, the tips of her ears flaming red. She curled her arms around her abdomen and let her head drop to the ground.

"No."

I swallowed, making my way in front of her, like I had done so many times before. Only this time, my feet felt heavy and I was uneasy. Unsure. Nervous, almost.

"Well," I announced as haughtily as I could, "you should have."

She shrunk into herself. I could feel it – this was the part when she made that tiny little whimper and her entire face flushed red, matching her wild hair. Her freckles were going to dance. Everyone was staring. I was smug.

But for the second time, she'd surprised me.

"Stop," she said quietly, her voice shaking. "Stop picking on me."

What the bloody hell was she doing?

No. Again, not okay. She was supposed to run away or explode. I wanted her to burst like the Ugly Weasley she was – and everyone would see. I wanted to expose her, and I would be the master of this little tirade, the show.

But she retaliated.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

"I – uhh –" Shit, stammering? _Get yourself together!_ "Ugly –"

"Leave me alone," she interrupted, voice a little stronger. My eyes narrowed.

She. Cut. Me. Off.

I opened my mouth to give her a piece of my mind when I noticed her eyes. Without the glasses, I'd never realized how big they were. Huge, even. Brown and chocolaty and shining. She was biting her lip with straight, white teeth. Her hair was still huge – but instead of it being a great frizzy mess on her head, it was… _tame._

And then I realized it.

My eyes were roaming greedily over her – and there wasn't any repulsion. At all.

NOT. OKAY.

I cleared my throat, and in turn, attempting to clear my mind. This was Rose Weasley. Our families were enemies. She was the one I'd been teasing mercilessly for the last four years. I was going to follow through. She was Ugly Weasley.

_Though she isn't ugly anymore, is she?_

"I see you've made some changes here, Weasley," I said loudly, covering up the voice in my head. I reached out and she cringed as I took a curl between my index finger and thumb, trying to ignore how smooth it was. "Tried to give a shit about how you look, for once?"

A murmur went through the crowd. She shrugged. "Yeah."

I dropped the curl and stepped back, making it obvious that I was sweeping my eyes over her body. "Tried to lose some of that fat?"

She lifted her chin a little. "Yeah."

I felt the eyes on me. What was I doing? Where were all the insults I'd prepared over the summer? Why was I stalling? Why was I addressing her changes? Everyone was waiting. They wanted a show.

And I was going to give it to them.

I gave a loud snort, crossing my arms with a look of disdain.

"Too bad you didn't succeed."

And the third surprise of the evening:

Rose Weasley, the toughest know-it-all in the school, burst into tears.

… maybe that one was a little harsh.

* * *

I was the king of the school.

I wasn't trying to be condescending or cocky or anything. It was true. A simply explained fact. I hexed people in the halls. I mocked them. In return, people just looked up to me and praised me for some reason. Before, I thought it was normal, but as time went on… I realized it was some screwed up shit.

That, or they were afraid of me.

Either way, that changed.

See, when you run away from crying, it doesn't mean you're tough. I thought avoiding tears was manly thing to do, but _apparently_, when the girl you've been picking on since the first day you met her bursts into tears from something you've said, you are no longer king.

You become the bad guy.

But I didn't know that and I left Ugly Weasley crying, hurrying away from the scene and strolled into the Great Hall like nothing had happened. My classmates trailed in behind me, the entire Weasley family giving me the stink-eye. I sat through the Sorting ignoring them, levitating my cutlery into the air like I didn't care.

But then I realized it.

It wasn't just Weasley's family giving me dirty looks – it was _everyone._

(Besides the Slytherins, that is.)

What I didn't realize at the time was that as quiet as that girl was, she was the nice to everyone. She wasn't bitter about the fact that I bothered her literally every day, and though everyone stood by me and laughed at her before, they were starting to realize that Weasley was nice. And I was intimidating.

The eyes of fifth years were on me, disgusted and angry and ready to kill.

They were closing in, like walls, and I was suffocating in their fury.

And suddenly, I cared what they thought.

* * *

I couldn't help it. I ran out of the Great Hall before they'd served dessert. No one tried to stop me as I left – I think the professors had tried calling me, but I'd ignored them – and I ran downstairs, my footsteps clanging in the corridors and echoing in the emptiness. I stopped in front of my Common Room.

No password.

I stood there, panting and staring at the wall of the entrance. I could stand there like an idiot and guess the password. I could wait and catch my breath until the Prefects got there. But then they would question me and give me that _look_ and I was bloody well not going through that again.

Instead, I decided to trek my way up to the kitchens and satisfy my stomach, which was still growling with hunger. I'd found the place in my third year after catching – I swallowed – Ugly Weasley and her cousin Albus Potter tickling the pear.

I caught a glimpse of the place right before they shut the door, and decided to check it out for myself. I mean, food whenever I pleased? I was on board with that. I was surprised that house elves worked in the Hogwarts kitchens, just like mine do at home. Dad always made me treat them exceptionally well – something about how they can betray you if you don't watch out and they have feelings or something.

Whatever.

As idiotic as I felt every time I did this, I reached out and tickled the green pear in the painting of a fruit bowl. It giggled and as soon as it transformed into a doorknob, I swung the portrait wide-open and stormed inside. The house elves swarmed around me, the little buggers.

"Mister Malfoy!" exclaimed a squeaky voice. My favourite one pushed its way to the front – her name was Idy, or something strange like that. She gripped at the bottom of my robes. "What can I get you?"

"Dinner, please," I said heavily. I moved away from the elves slowly, sinking into a chair at a nearby table as they scurried off.

Wow.

I said 'please'.

It was a weird night.

"Is something on your mind, Mister Malfoy?" Idy asked as she slid a platter full of food towards me.

"I'm okay."

"If there's _anything_ I can do…"

"Thanks," I said, cursing the word as it came out of my mouth. Really? This politeness was getting too much.

Idy bowed low, glanced around sneakily and stood up to come close to me. "Can Mister Malfoy keep a secret?"

I raised an eyebrow. House elves have secrets? "Of course."

"There…" She lowered her voice, covering her floppy ears with her hands. As though it would make other elves suddenly deaf. "There is a girl in the back of the kitchens. She took a container of ice cream and a spoon and won't stop eating."

I rolled my eyes. "So?"

She looked at me with a wounded expression. "Mister Malfoy, she is crying and ruining the ice cream! We won't be able to serve it at dinner tomorrow!"

"Well, if she's crying, she'll probably finish it anyway."

"Please help us!" Idy cried, abandoning pretence and grabbing my knees. "Please get her out! She is disturbing the other house elves."

I scanned the room. They were going about their duties – a little tense, maybe – but still working. "They look fine to me."

Her eyes were huge. Pleading. Damn. "_Please._"

Merlin, did I have to do everything around here?

I stood up and dusted off my robes – don't look at me like that, I was in the _kitchens – _and followed Idy through the tiny elves, weaving my way to the back of the kitchens. He turned around and pointed to someone who was hiding in the corner behind a giant box that was emitting cold air.

My jaw dropped.

"_Weasley_?"

She looked a right mess. Her eyes were puffy and pink, tears sliding down her pink face and her ears turning pink and she was eating pink ice cream with a large scooper.

All in all, that much pink clashed with her red hair.

Her gaze shifted to me upon hearing my voice. A second of shocked silence passed as we stared at each other – going from the hair to the eyes to her cheeks to the ice cream and the bit of ice cream on her nose. She looked miserable and honestly? A little shocked I was there.

Then she snapped.

"What are you doing here?"

"What are _you_ doing here?" I retorted. "Eating your weight in ice cream?"

"So what if I am?" she demanded, throwing me off.

I acted on instinct; I shrugged. I didn't really feel like smirking, but I did anyway. "You're going to have to eat a lot more than that, Ugly Weasley."

She didn't say anything. I continued.

It really was the only thing I _could_ do – the only thing that was familiar.

"I'm not even surprised you're here," I said, not thinking about what I was saying. "It's just like you to be hiding out in the kitchens, with the help_. _I mean," I cut off with a snort. "You just make it so _easy_, Ugly."

I gave her one, last pitiful look. "Pathetic."

I didn't get time to think before she was up on her feet, eyes blazing. It was like something had gone off – like a time bomb, slowly ticking away over the years.

_Was she…?_

_No._

_She wasn't going to…_

_But she was._

"You know _what_, Malfoy?" she shouted, tossing the bucket of ice cream onto the floor. A house elf squeaked in surprise and picked it up. She ignored it. "I am _sick_ of you."

I raised an eyebrow and crossed my arms. "Oh really?"

"Yes." She crossed her arms as well.

Her new boobs bulged out.

_Shit._

"Do you know what you've done?" she asked in a low voice. "You – you are the reason I dread getting out of my Common Room. I go out of my way to sit as far away from you as I can in class. When you look at me, you…" She flushed a deeper red. "You make me feel like you're seeing _through_ me – like you're looking for my flaws.

"And it kills me that they're so easy to find," she whispered.

Not knowing what to say, I shrugged again.

Mistake.

Her eyes flashed and her ears burned. "What is your _problem, _Malfoy?" she demanded. "What have I ever done to you? Did I insult you in some way? Did I hurt your fucking _ego_?"

_Did she just say 'fuck'?_

_Damn, that was hot._

I shrugged yet again, trying to ignore my highly inappropriate thoughts. "It's more the fact that you _exist_, if you know what I mean…"*

If I thought she was angry before, I was wrong.

Fury raged through her. She was like a fireball, heat sparking through her like lightening. Weasley was shaking, and she looked as though she wanted nothing more than to tear me to shreds.

It was more than I'd ever wished for and wanted.

So why did I feel guilt coiling in my stomach?

"_Fuck you!" _she shouted, her arms collapsing at her sides. "_Fuck _you! I never did any of this – these changes – for you! I did them so I could feel better about myself, and it's all _your _fault."

I gave her an incredulous look. _My_ fault?

Tears streamed down her face, ignoring my expression. "There's obviously a problem with me, right Malfoy?" Her eyes locked with mine. "Why else would you hurt me like this?"

I couldn't speak. The elves were staring.

Suddenly, as though she couldn't take anymore, she collapsed back onto the floor into herself, hugging her knees and sobbing.

And like the little shit I was, I ran.

* * *

There's a reason Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin used to get along so well.

If you think about it, the two traits of the houses were similar – if nothing else, they were in motive. The difference was that Gryffindors were rash, impulsive. Too busy being the hero. Slytherins were the brains behind the operation, but unfortunately, they didn't have the brawn.

And I, Scorpius Malfoy, was the _essence_ of Slytherin.

But another thing about Slytherins is that we're proud. So I sucked up my fears and strutted around as usual, being as I'd been for the past four years. Surely, the entire school didn't turn against me overnight?

I was right. They hadn't.

I kept bothering Weasley (who was, incidentally, in Hufflepuff). But it got worse. As it turned out, my craving - the _explosion _from her – hadn't been satisfied. I pushed away the guilt, convinced myself it was because there hadn't been an audience to see the true Ugly in that girl, my actions could still be justified.

I usually didn't outright call her out like I did in the Great Hall. Most of the time, it'd be comments thrown in the beginning of class, when we passed in the halls – the random insult that made everyone snicker.

But I was out of insults, wasn't I? Sure, I could've kept up that Ugly Weasley thing – and I did – but it was obvious that she _wasn't_ anymore. She wasn't four-eyes without the glasses, or brace face without the wiring in her mouth, or wild without the hair to go with it, or fatty without the fat.

But… even _I'm _ashamed to what I called her next.

* * *

"Oi, Ugly!"

It was mid-September and I was getting desperate; the dirty looks that the Weasley family was giving me had spread to nearly everyone – except for the Slytherins, of course. They knew better than to side with the other houses.

So how did Weasley get the upper hand?

It had nothing to do with her fame. Now that Ugly wasn't quite so _Ugly_ anymore, everyone was questioning my words. The sad fact of bullying is that the more attractive people win in the battle.

That _used_ to be me.

Apparently, the vulnerability of the female gender also counts for something – and combined with her newfound beauty (ugh), she was slowly becoming the most popular girl at Hogwarts. After her Veela cousin Dominique, of course.

You understand, don't you?

I had to take Weasley _down_. Back to the hole where she belonged.

I smirked as she turned to me. We were in-between classes, and the corridor was absolutely packed. The perfect audience. The crowd stilled upon hearing my voice; there was something about my tone that demanded such authority that people stopped and listened. Even if half that crowd were the ones who gave me those dirty looks.

Weasley immediately glanced away, casting her eyes down. "That's not my name."

I shrugged. "You responded to it."

She didn't answer, but her shoulders tensed. All I needed to know.

She was still afraid of me.

"So," I began conversationally, walking closer to her. I noticed she had a couple of friends with her, but they backed away, letting Weasley fight her own battles. Hmm. "I was wondering…"

"What."

"Tsk, tsk," I said, clucking my tongue. "So impolite, Ugly."

Her ears burned red.

"Anyway, before I was so _rudely _interrupted," I said loudly, "I was wondering, something, Weasley. Regarding your new appearance, and all." She lifted her head her to give me a questioning look. I took a deep breath, casting a smirk around the still corridor to the audience that was hanging on my every word.

"Who'd you fuck over the summer?"

* * *

A slut.

I named her a _slut._

* * *

At the time, I thought I was a genius. After all, people believed it – _why_, I didn't know. It's not like I gave evidence. All she did after I said it was mouth wordlessly at me. Like a fish. A very attractive fish.

(Shut up.)

Then she ran away like a true Hufflepuff. I laughed, and everyone else started laughing and clapping me on the back. I grinned triumphantly. I was back. I was king again.

After that, I didn't really bully her any more. Besides the fact that the bitchiest girls in our year took care of it, I never saw her anymore. It's like she disappeared in the halls. It's like she couldn't _hear_ me in class. Rose began to do something she'd never done before.

She was ignoring me.

And that shit? Pissed. Me. _Off_.

But slowly, as the months went on, I forgot all about her and her stupidly attractive self and her new boobs. Out of sight, out of mind, as they say. I moved on to picking on firsts years. Going on dates. Rose Weasley wasn't a part of my life anymore.

Until April.

Shit always goes down in April.

***Quote from **_**Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, **_**page 570.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two  
**

_Rose Weasley:_

I'd been hiding in my dormitory since October.

Though that isn't _entirely_ accurate, it's almost frighteningly close to the truth. I went to classes, of course. I'd be the first one in, hiding under the protection of the teacher, and the first one out. Bam. I'm like a ninja. No one saw me.

I started eating in the kitchens again. At first, I was worried Malfoy would come in again (Merlin, yelling at him the first time… that was embarrassing. Remind me never to do that again), but Idy assured me that she wouldn't tell him I was there.

I love that house elf.

Besides, it's not like anyone needed me in the Great Hall, anyway. Most of my family tended to ignore me. The guys weren't awful to me, of course; all they cared about was food and Quidditch. I was _terrible_ at Quidditch, so I didn't talk to them much. My female cousins were more than a little ashamed of me, and after that slut rumour, they spoke to me less than when I'd been 'Ugly Weasley'. As for friends… let's just say that Hufflepuffs can be worse than Slytherins, sometimes.

I'm sure they're all lovely people. Honestly. They don't seem to ignore anyone else; they all seem like they're perfectly nice to most people.

I think it was just me who had the problem.

Albus didn't think so. He told me all the time that the problem is only in my head, but if that were so, how could other people notice it so quickly? He was against the whole change. He said my glasses were cool and though I could use a comb, there was no need to straighten it. I couldn't understand why he didn't _see_ me like everyone else.

I guess he was just used to it. We were like fraternal twins.

Eventually, he convinced me that if I wanted to make any changes, I shouldn't do it for Malfoy. So I didn't. I did it for myself. I did it so that my cousins would start inviting me to girl's night, or so maybe my roommates would talk to me. So I'd feel worthy of it.

Apparently, nothing made a difference.

I couldn't understand what was wrong with me.

So I hid from it. I always liked books better, anyway. It's like they allow you to escape into a whole new world, one where your family liked you and Malfoy didn't exist and didn't make the entire school think I was a slut.

After Albus' slight confusion – "Did you _really_ sleep with someone when you haven't even had your first kiss?" – he vowed to get revenge on Malfoy, like the faithful cousin he was.

I had to put a stop to the revenge, though.

* * *

"Albus, _no._"

"Come on, Rose," he argued, sitting back in his chair. We were in the kitchen. He joined me in there when I was having a particularly lonely day. He's the best. "He's spreading rumours about you, and while the other stuff was insulting, this…" Albus shook his head. "This is about your _dignity._"

"I have _plenty_ of that, thanks."

"Yeah?" He quirked an eyebrow. "Why don't you come to the Great Hall with me?"

I shrunk in my seat. "I can't. They stare at me. And talk."

"Rosie, we need to put a stop to this!" he said loudly, pounding his fist on the table. I flinched and looked away. "He's horrible, okay? It's been a month and he's reduced you to never coming out of your room. You look so pale, I wouldn't be surprised if you were coming down with something."

"Thanks," I muttered irritably, pushing away my plate. If that didn't make me lose my appetite, I didn't know what did. "I know he's horrible, but the whole _school_ can't be horrible."

"They're just followers."

"Does Malfoy use the girl's restroom?"

"They think it's cool to pick on you." He shook his head and shifted so his chair was beside mine. Could he sense I was about to start crying? I cried very easily, but not usually in the company of others. Only Albus or my mum or dad. He held out his arms. "Come on, don't cry."

I sniffed and accepted his embrace. I guess he didn't mind if I got his shirt wet. "I don't get why they don't like me."

"I don't think you like yourself, Rose."

Stupid Albus. Always being a smart little Ravenclaw.

"It's not fair," I said quietly. "I changed everything that was wrong with me, and he still found something else. I'm not a slut. I wear the school uniform."

"There's nothing wrong with you. But you need to learn how to stand up for yourself."

"I'd rather that Malfoy stop picking on me."

He kissed my forehead. "Life doesn't work that way, Rose."

* * *

As it turned out, Albus was wrong.

It was hard to know I mattered so little in Malfoy's mind, that as soon as I'd begun to hide entirely, he forgot I existed. In other sense, it was oddly freeing. I could get up in the morning and know that if I played my cards right – class, speak to teacher about something, pack quickly, get back – I wouldn't get teased. He ignored me. It was as though all my prayers had come true, and bit-by-bit, I gained some confidence back. That maybe there wasn't anything wrong with me, after all – I was just _there, _and more obviously vulnerable than the people around me.

I was just a target.

And when I realized that, I realized that just because I was a target to _him,_ it didn't mean I was a target for anyone else. My roommates didn't even pick on me if Malfoy didn't. It was almost as though I was a normal student.

And slowly, I became stronger.

Albus couldn't be more pleased. Although I still couldn't sit in the Great Hall, I didn't race from class to class anymore. I still sat across the room from Malfoy, but I didn't speak to the teachers just so he couldn't harass me. Albus made me play Quidditch with him all the time so I'd get out of room. I started hanging around my male cousins more, started to get better at Quidditch Little things like that made a difference.

And then, in April, Albus just _let it slip_ what Malfoy did.

* * *

When I turned the corner of the seemingly deserted corridor, the first thing I saw was blood.

I hated blood. I didn't faint at the sight of it, but I usually get very woozy. My determination faltered slightly, but still I ran towards the four boys. James. Louis. Albus. And of course, on the ground, bleeding out of his abdomen, Scorpius.

"What are you _doing_?" I cried, racing up to them. They weren't even using their wands at this point – Scorpius' lay on the floor a few metres away – but kicking him, punching him. "I told you guys to stay out of this!"

"You didn't even tell us what this scum was doing, Rosie," James growled, stepping away. "Asshole deserves it."

"No, he doesn't!"

"He's been torturing you for _years_?" Louis recounted. "Right? He's been calling you Ugly? Merlin, Rose, I didn't know that's why you were so quiet all the time! I didn't know that's why Dominique doesn't hang out with you! And where the hell does he get off calling you a slut?"

I closed my mouth, speechless.

I couldn't believe anyone was actually sticking up for me.

"If you're not going to do anything, we should," Albus added. He wasn't looking at me. I could tell from his quiet voice that he felt more guilty than anything, or anyone.

But I couldn't stand it. Albus was right; I had to fight my own battles – but why was he fighting them for me? And furthermore, why like _this_? I didn't believe in any kind of violence that hurts people. I hated conflict. Tears welled in my eyes as James started kicking Malfoy again. He pulled out his wand.

"No!" I screamed.

And before I knew it, I was leaping in front his wand – the spell.

That was that last thing I could remember.

* * *

When I woke, I was in the hospital wing.

It was dark. I felt like something heavy was pressing down on my chest as I tried to sit up, like there was a bag of flour resting on top of me. Still I stretched my arms behind me, blinking sleepily into the darkness and trying to refocus my sight.

And then I remembered. James shooting the spell. Me leaping in front of it, to defend my _enemy_, the person who'd tormented me, made me a loner for the past four years, forced me into hiding since October because I was a wuss.

Why did I do that?

And what did James hit me with, anyway?

I glanced at my watch – 3:11 AM – and then around the Hospital Wing. As I suspected, Malfoy was in the bed across from mine, snoring softly. Ignoring the pain, I slipped out of bed and padded across the cold floor to him.

He was curled and tangled in his sheets, his mouth slightly open. The little moonlight had peeked through the blinds and accented his pale skin, illuminating him like a ghost. But he was breathing. My cousins hadn't killed him, but… they'd really hurt him. Physically. Like Malfoy had hurt me emotionally.

And I was going to make him understand that, once and for all.

"Malfoy," I whispered harshly, my voice echoing across the room. I glanced around to make sure the nurse wasn't coming back. Nothing. I leaned down to shake his arm gently. "Malfoy, wake up."

"Mmfgh."

"Malfoy, I need to talk to you."

His eyes peeled open slowly, and as he soon as he realized who he was looking at, he shoot upwards. His eyes widened. "Weasley, what are you doing in my dormitory?"

"You're in the hospital wing."

At this, he seemed to remember the pain in his abdomen. He groaned and clutched his middle, hunching over and clenching his eyes shut. I sighed and leaned onto the bed, one hand on his lower back, one on his shoulder, and lowered my bully down without him hurting.

And to my surprise, he grunted out, "Thank you."

I couldn't think, speak. So I sat on the end of the bed.

I think that might've been Malfoy's undoing.

"Merlin – Weasley, can you just go?" he moaned, covering his eyes with his hands. "I'm not exactly feeling my best –"

"I can see that."

"– and it's kind of _your_ fault, so would you just –"

"It's _my _fault?" I snapped, flaring up. "It's _my _fault I stopped my cousins from beating you up? It's my fault I stopped James from doing whatever he did to me –"

"Don't flatter yourself, it was only a stunner that hit you in the chest way too close."

"Fine, Malfoy." I looked down, my eyes filling with tears. I knew they wouldn't fall, but I felt so angry that they were building, anyway. I hated how he spoke and I felt hurt. It was the _way_ he said things, the way I felt so small and pathetic, because he was obviously so much better than me. "You win. You're better than me. As usual."

"What?"

"I wanted to talk to you about something, anyway," I said, ignoring his question.

"And you wanted to talk about this… _now_," Malfoy emphasized.

"No time like the present."

"While we're both in pain and in the fucking infirmary?"

"I swear, I just want to get this over with," I told him, my voice shaking. Merlin, he just made me so mad and upset and terrified all at once. "After this, I won't speak to you anymore. It'll go back to normal."

He didn't say anything. He was obviously still awake; his silver eyes were shining from the moonlight peeking through the windows. He was gritting his teeth, looking as though he wanted to be far away. I knew the feeling. After a few moments, he closed his eyes and nodded.

I took a deep breath. "What's wrong with me?"

* * *

I knew his answer was going to hurt, but I wanted to take the blow. I wanted to _know_, after all these years, why he bullied me – and I didn't want an Albus-sugar-coated answer.

Because there had to be a reason. I knew there was. There was a reason everyone looked at me funny and the girls talked about me in the bathrooms when they thought I wasn't there and why my roommates hid my things. He started it, right? He's the first person who noticed it and pushed me into the limelight.

So he had to tell me.

* * *

Malfoy must have laid there for five straight minutes, his jaw opening and snapping shut. He looked slightly like a goldfish. But still I waited for him to open his eyes and shut them and then swallow and take several deep breaths. Waited for him to collect his thoughts – there must have been quite a few of them – and tell me. Once and for all.

The truth.

But he didn't say anything.

After a couple of minutes of him staring at me like a lunatic, he clenched his eyes shut and pulled his blankets over his head. "I can't deal with this."

"_You_ can't deal with this?" I snapped, snatching his blankets away so he could see me. I leaned over so I could poke him in the chest, and Merlin, I was almost _hoping_ it would hurt. "Then how could you expect me to _deal_ with you pointing out all my imperfections for the past five years?"

He blinked at me, expression unreadable.

I grabbed him by his collar and dragged him up. He groaned in pain, and I shook him. "Come _on_, Malfoy!"

"Let me go!" he snarled, prying my fingers off his shirt.

"Tell me!" I shouted, as though he were across the room and not in my face. Tears were spilling across my cheeks. "You're good at this! It's the only fucking thing you're good at!"

"_What?_"

"Making me feel like shit!"

He groaned again as I dropped him back onto the bed. I furiously wiped at my tears; this was the third time Malfoy was seeing me cry, and that wasn't acceptable.

When did I become so weak?

And the look on Malfoy's face – half pain from my shoving, half… blank. Like nothing I said mattered to him. That he didn't care how much he hurt me. And don't get me wrong – I _knew_ he didn't care about me – but he didn't feel the slightest bit guilty that he'd hurt someone enough to have them ask him what's so wrong with them… to find out what they had done wrong all these years.

I had forced myself to conclude that Malfoy was indeed heartless.

"You know what?" I said weakly, sniffing. "Forget it. I'll figure it out myself."

And with that, I crawled back into my own bed.

* * *

(I was so sure that he would tell me.)

* * *

We were both in the hospital wing for three days.

James, Louis and Albus all visited the next day, smothering me in hugs and asking for my forgiveness. I forgave them; after all, they thought they were doing something right. Even though I'd learned Malfoy's heart was made of stone, I made them promise to never beat someone up again. They agreed and went on to stuff sweets in my mouth and talk about Quidditch.

No one visited Malfoy.

I refused to acknowledge him. I spent most of my time reading and doing homework – surprisingly, so did he – but I never spoke to him again. I pretended like nothing had happened. Like he was a stranger. I didn't even look at him, except for peeking every once in a while.

(That boy was sinfully attractive – in a cold, harsh sense.)

I caught him staring sometimes. Then my blush would betray me and I would bury my nose back into my book. I didn't know why he was staring – maybe he was looking for more material or something – but it was unnerving. Heck, having him on the opposite side of the room for seventy-two hours was plenty unnerving, but he hadn't said anything.

Until the last day.

He was mostly healed by then, but this was the first time he'd gotten up and it wasn't to use the bathroom. I watched as he slowly walked over, hands were stuffed in his pyjama pockets, eyes glued to the floor and muttering under his breath.

His icy eyes found mine in the dark. Then he squeezed them shut and forced a hand through his messy blond hair, rolling back and forth on his heels, breathing irregularly. It was as though I was seeing him for the first time, vulnerable and uneasy… almost as if I was seeing him more human than he'd ever seemed before.

He found his voice, and it croaked from lack of use. "I'm not good at this."

"Good at what?"

He sat at the edge of my bed and gripped at the blankets, clenching and unclenching them in his fists. "Apologizing."

I was speechless.

"Okay." He took a deep breath. His knuckles were turning white. "I'm sorry."

I didn't say a word.

His eyes moved to mine, and I was surprised how conflicted he seemed. "Well? Do you forgive me or not?"

I cleared my throat. "You don't apologize for forgiveness."

"Then why _do _you apologize?"

"Because it's the right thing to do."

Malfoy was looking at me like I was crazy.

"Look at it this way," I whispered, crossing my legs. "A person could apologize and mean it, right? They could truly be sorry for what they did and apologize because they want the _other_ person to understand that they feel bad for what they did. Or they could not mean it and expect something in return to give them a peace of mind – which is awfully selfish, if you think about it."

"But I do mean it," he muttered sulkily.

"Okay."

"And I really do feel bad."

"You do?" I couldn't believe my ears. Actually, I really didn't. I didn't believe for one second that he did. Heart of stone, remember?

"I feel bad," he repeated, almost guiltily. "I feel bad and I'm sorry." He pushed a hand through his hair again. "Tell anyone and I'll kill you."

I snorted. "You really _are_ bad at this."

"But I mean it!"

"Prove it," I said quietly, looking away. He fell silent for a few moments, his breath still ragged. I bet if I were closer, I would be able to hear his heart beating rapidly.

Being close to Malfoy, though. Ew.

Though his chest is kind of nice.

"We could…" He ran his hand through his hair yet again. "Do you want to be friends?"

My mouth fell open.

"Yeah." He was more confident now. He stopped clenching the sheets in his fist and relaxed. He was actually _smiling_. "Do you want to be friends?"

"I…" Holy crap. "How do I know you're not trying to screw me over?"

"How can I screw you over by being your friend?"

"I dunno." I was shaking my head now. "You could play pranks or something. You could twist my words." Anything he'd already done before, except he could just take my trust and throw it right back in my face.

"I won't do that," he said quietly, looking determinedly at me. Merlin, this was just a whole new side of Scorpius I wasn't used to seeing, and it was freaking me out. "I won't. I apologized to you – I don't do that. I feel really bad about what I did, and… I deserved everything your cousins did to me."

My eyes lowered to my lap. "How do I know you're not lying?"

"I'm telling the truth, Rose." He stuttered on my name. "We'll be friends. We'll talk and hang out and shit. I won't make fun of you. I won't let anyone else make fun of you. And… I'll never make fun of anyone again."

My gaze snapped back to him.

"Rose?" he asked tentatively, holding out his hand. "Friends?"

Malfoy's eyes had softened, incredibly, as though he were actually letting down his guard for once in his life. His hand was shaking. He was looking at me uneasily, but I felt as though – for once – he was telling the truth. That he actually meant what he was saying. I didn't want to be played like a fool again, but something about him made me trust him. Just a little.

I swallowed and shook his outstretched hand. "Friends."

I just hoped I wouldn't regret that decision.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

_Rose Weasley:_

Let's get one thing straight, right at the beginning: Malfoy's an asshole.

But he's also so much more than that.

* * *

"Hey, Weasley."

I spit out my pumpkin juice, spraying it all over some unsuspecting Hufflepuff who was sitting in front of me, innocently eating his breakfast. The boy spluttered indignantly and swore.

"Oh no, I'm so sorry," I said frantically, grabbing my napkin and handing it to him.

"If this is the reaction I get from sitting here, I'm doing it every day."

"What are you doing?" I demanded, turning to my left and fully looking at Malfoy. Everyone was staring. Merlin, I knew it was a bad idea to start eating breakfast in the Great Hall again. I began to grab my toast, using Malfoy's napkin to wrap them. "This is the Hufflepuff table, remember?"

"I remember," he said cheerfully, decidedly unconcerned. He snatched my toast out of my hand and placed it back in my plate before loading his own plate with food. Was he oblivious to the fact that _everyone_ was staring at him? "What've you got today?"

"Today?" I asked weakly.

"Classes." He looked at me, quirking an eyebrow. "Merlin, Weasley, what's up with you?"

"You're sitting here," I spluttered.

"Right."

"At the Hufflepuff table."

"Right."

"With me."

"Three correct observations in a row, who would've thought?" My mouth hung open, and he rolled his eyes. "Come on, Weasley. We're friends now."

"Yeah, but…" I looked around the hall, where eyes were still flickering in our direction. Itching for an argument. "I mean…"

"You didn't think I'd follow through?"

I looked down at my plate guiltily. "Something like that."

Malfoy munched on his bacon. I went back to eating my pancakes. We sat there quietly for a few minutes in awkward silence. Well, not exactly awkward, but not exactly comfortable, either Most people had stopped staring by now, but my cousins were still making faces and whispering.

"If my cousins get out of hand, don't say I didn't warn you," I told him.

He glanced over at them and rolled his eyes. "Whatever. So what've you got today?"

"Umm…" I pulled my timetable out of my bag. "Charms and Herbology, then double Potions after lunch."

"I think I have Herbology with you."

"It's my favourite subject," I admitted. "What's yours?"

Conversation went on like that for a bit. Even my cousins looked away after a while, deciding they didn't need to go all Gryffindor on me and save my sorry arse. Malfoy and I just talked about every day things, stuff Albus and I usually talked about. We discussed classes and teachers and food and books. Normal stuff.

For the first time, we were actually getting to know each other.

* * *

I was guarded with him for the rest of fifth year. For the summer, in all the letters we owled back and forth. For a couple of months into sixth year. He could sense it, and he kept on pushing this friendship, and after a while, I genuinely enjoyed his company. Besides a couple of harsh comments he let slip sometimes (and then immediately apologized), he was sarcastic and nice to be around.

But I was still guarded.

I'm a little ashamed to admit that I thought he truly had a plan. I thought that the moment I opened up to him, he was going to turn around and throw the little trust I had for him back in my face. I thought he was just waiting, biding his time until he could hurt me again. Get back at me for what my cousins did to him.

So I didn't open up for a very long time, and when you're fifteen, even a few months could feel like a long time. I was constantly on edge in fifth year, like I was constantly waiting for him to stab me in the back. He never did. He continued treating me like a friend – studying together, sharing jokes, talking.

That sort of thing continued, admittedly, because of him. I was too scared to put in any effort at first. I think Malfoy's guilt drove him to do this, but after a while, I wasn't so sure. He could've apologized and left me alone, but he stopped bullying everyone.

After a while, it seemed like he genuinely wanted to be my friend.

After a while, he'd become Scorpius, not Malfoy.

* * *

"What're you doing for the Christmas holidays?" I asked as we strolled through the empty hallways. Everyone else was at Hogsmeade and neither of us felt like going through the strong winds and snowy weather just to buy some Butterbeer.

Scorpius shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Dunno. What're you doing?"

"Probably just going home," I said absent-mindedly, staring out the huge windows as we walked. Though it was horrible to be in, snow was absolutely beautiful. "My family has a bit of a tradition."

"What's that?"

"Nothing big, just…" I shrugged. "You know. Waking up at five in the morning with Hugo to open presents. Playing in the snow with my cousins. Huge Christmas dinner with my entire family. New Year's party."

"You _enjoy_ that stuff?" he asked, raising an eyebrow playfully.

"I like being around my family," I told him. "I mean… they don't really like me much. At least, they didn't. I mean, James and Louis like me because I play Quidditch with them. And Albus is my best friend. But I think the rest of my family is starting to warm up to me, and so I'm actually sort of excited for the holidays this year."

And I think I knew why.

People don't believe that confidence is more of an attractive quality than being physically attractive, but by that time, I believed it. And I would tell anyone.

I had gone through a makeover process and it had done _nothing _for me. People who are physically attractive and demand attention but still have low esteem? It doesn't mean anything. Those people fake their confidence, and when people say to "fake it 'till you make it", that's how insecure people make friends.

And here's the thing: insecure is not the same as shy, or introverted. I realized I was a very introverted person, someone who kept to herself and _liked_ it that way. But even shy people need friends sometimes, and shy people can be confident. It was beyond cheesy, but I truly had to believe in yourself, had to be confident in who I was and honestly _like_ who I am.

Surprisingly enough, it was Scorpius who taught me that.

Indirectly, of course.

When I asked him that day in the hospital wing what was wrong with me, he didn't tell me. I think it was because he honestly didn't know. He, like most people in the world, thought that people's approval comes from the shallow ideal of physical appearances. And sure, first impressions really do come from that area, and that's why you shouldn't walk around looking like a slob.

But somewhere inside, Scorpius knew what I was doing wrong. After all, even as a bully, he was doing things _right. _He was one of the strongest people I knew, and one of his unfortunate qualities was to pick on people who didn't feel so confident in themselves, but he never took that shit from anyone else. He liked who he was.

After we became friends, it was clear to me that he wanted to be friends because he felt guilty for what he'd done to me, and the only reason I allowed it was because he didn't want to be friends because he pitied me. I didn't need his pity. I knew becoming my friend was a sort of redemption for Scorpius and he needed my help. He wanted to be a better person to people. The boy was strong, he liked who he was and he found out that he didn't like this certain quality in himself.

So he changed it.

And I admired that.

Sometime in between being friends with him and being so guarded, I realized that I wanted to be that kind of person. I didn't want to be _him_, but I wanted to be someone who liked who they are. I slowly began to like my little habits and laugh at myself. I liked that I liked to read and study. I liked that I loved fudge so much. I liked my sense of humour. After a while, I liked my body and sometimes put on my glasses from time to time.

Scorpius did help me with that, in a way. Although he teased my glasses sometimes, I knew that he actually ended up liking who I was, too. And slowly, I realized that I didn't need his approval, or anyone else's – and that's what people like about confidence. That's why confidence (and not arrogance) is so attractive: because _you_ know your limitless capabilities, and you don't need to tell anyone else. It finally hit me.

Albus was right all along: I didn't like _myself._

I was finally on the right path to being confident.

Even if I wasn't quite there yet, I was getting somewhere.

All of this hit me over the summer, and I think this is why my cousins started gravitating towards me a bit more. I still didn't exactly fit in with them, but I didn't really feel the need to, either. I was just myself. And they finally liked that.

"I'm glad you're finally getting along with them," Scorpius told me, smiling.

I smiled back. "Me too."

"You're a pretty great friend to have. They had to figure it out eventually."

I blushed. Scorpius didn't compliment me too often, but I felt as though he did it when he thought I deserved it. Or maybe it was kind of a random process to him when he did it when he felt like it. But I liked to think it was the first option.

"Thanks," I said quietly. We stopped walking as we arrived to our favourite spot; a large window with a sill where two people could sit comfortably. Scorpius and I sat here sometimes; often enough to know it was our spot, infrequently enough for it to still be special. I slid in first, stretching out my feet as Scorpius did the same on the opposite side of the sill. "You know, you don't have to keep doing this."

"Doing what?"

"Being my friend." I peeked out the window towards the ground, nodding to some of the people walking back from Hogsmeade. "I know you wanted to go with your friends from Slytherin today."

He snorted. "No, I really didn't. I hate this weather."

"But you could've been having fun out there," I said, resting my head against the window and closing my eyes. This had been bothering me for a while, and I really wanted to say it. "I mean… see, I know you wanted to be my friend because you felt guilty. But I've forgiven you."

"Forgiven me?"

"For the last five years." I opened my eyes. He was staring at me with those grey eyes. I'd always thought they were beautiful. "I forgive you for all that. You don't have to be my friend anymore if you don't want to."

He frowned. "You don't want to be friends anymore?"

"That's not it."

"Then I don't understand."

"I just don't want you to feel obliged to," I explained quietly.

"Oh…" He looked back out the window, thinking hard. I was secretly hoping he would turn down my offer, because believe it or not, I _liked_ being his friend. I liked talking about random things and he was a good study partner. He teased me a bit, but I knew it wasn't because he wanted to hurt me. That's just who he was, and I liked him for that.

But the thing was that while _I_ hadn't opened up to him, neither had he.

I was still afraid to. And in that, I felt stuck.

Which made everything he said next so much more significant.

"Rose, I…" He trailed off, still staring at the falling snow outside. It was as though his words were coming from someplace he didn't visit often. His voice was choppy and wispy, like the words were difficult to say, but he was saying them anyway. "I don't feel _obliged _to be your friend. I think I probably did at some point. But I really like being your friend. And I'm glad you've forgiven me."

I blushed again. He never said things like that, and I knew I was listening to something he'd probably never say again. "Okay."

"And right now, I need all the friends I can get," he admitted softly.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean… you can't tell anyone this," he said, looking at me. To my surprise, he looked on the verge of tears. I crawled beside him – it just seemed like the right thing to do – and nodded for him to continue.

He took a deep breath. "My parents… they've never exactly gotten along. They fought a lot, as long as I can remember. Lately, it's gotten a lot worse, and my mum… she wrote for me to stay at Hogwarts over Christmas." He stared down at his lap, where his hands were clenching and shaking. "Christmas is special, Rose. Even through all these years, they've _never _fought over these holidays. It was sort of a rule. But I think they're breaking it this year, and that's why they don't want me to come."

I bit my lip. "What do you think –"

"I think they're getting a divorce."

It was like something punched my gut. Everything suddenly made sense – why Scorpius was the way he was. Maybe he bullied other people because he never realized how wrong it was. Or maybe he wanted others to feel as badly as he did.

Either way, it was inexcusable. Then again, I had forgiven him, because I thought he honestly regretted it. It was better to forgive and forget – better for my mind, rather than to hold bitter regrets and grudges against people. That was the way I thought, what I believed. I forgave him because I thought he had truly understood what he did. As it turned out, he was still paying for it. In a way.

So I did something I've never done before.

I put my arms around his trembling body, letting my head settle on his shoulder. I felt awkward at first – he was stiff and unresponsive – but after a moment, the shock wore off and he collapsed into me. Our legs intertwined as he pressed closer to me, his head resting on my shoulder. I held him until he stopped shaking, listening to his breathing. He smelled like fresh soap. I closed my eyes.

It was strange, but in a way – in my way of analyzing everything to death – I think we finally reached a mutual understanding. He was opening up to me, and in his way, he was as guarded as I was.

It was as though he was slowly breaking the ice – the walls in between us.

"I won't tell anyone," I whispered, my lips moving against his shoulder.

"Thanks." He pulled away; he didn't look like he was about to cry anymore. He looked calm, almost relieved. "Thank you for forgiving me, Rose. But I don't think I'll ever stop feeling guilty."

I didn't know what to say.

"I…" He shifted closer. "It's just that sometimes I look at you, and I can't believe I ever said those things. I can't believe I made you feel so bad. And now I can't believe you forgive me for all that."

He moved closer, his hand shifting to my waist, as though he was afraid I'd move away, but I was frozen. My heart has begun to thump loudly in my ears, faster as he lessened the proximity between us, faster as his eyes flickered down to my lips, faster as they flickered back to my eyes.

"I think it's better to forgive and forget," I whispered, voice trembling.

He moved impossibly closer. His breath was brushing against my lips. I couldn't stop staring into his eyes, bright and grey and determined. His hand slid up from my waist and was warm on my cheek.

"You're a beautiful person, Rose," he breathed. Slowly, carefully, almost fearfully, he pressed his soft lips to mine.

And just like that, he broke down every wall in between us.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

_Scorpius Malfoy_:

Being a nice person is the weirdest fucking thing I've ever done.

Did you know it's practically a full-time job? With Rose, it was actually pretty easy. For some reason, she didn't annoy me that much. I actually liked being around her. She was cool. I have no idea why I picked on her for so long.

But everyone else? Bloody hell.

Don't get me started on first years. Those pesky little brats are always running around and getting lost and practically _begging _to be hexed. They pissed me off like no others. I was getting pretty good at resisting by the end of fifth year, but then in my sixth year, there was a new crop of them, wide eyed and looking like they were having the time of their lives. It was torture, not being able to shut them up with a flick of my wand.

And then their pets. Everyone's pets. Does every single person who doesn't have an owl _need_ to have a cat? It's ridiculous! I don't know how many cats I've tripped over because I had to resist from kicking them out of my way. Why would anyone want nasty, hairy creatures that scratch people?

Yep, being nice was definitely a full-time job.

And it was _weird._

But like I said, by the end of fifth year, I got used to it. From April to June, Rose became something like my guide. She showed me how to "be the better person", or some shit like that. Instead of picking on people whenever they annoyed me, she made me take it out on the Quidditch pitch. I never thought of Quidditch as an outlet, but it quickly became one.

I became so thankful for this over the summer when I went home.

My parents had always fought, and it was getting worse. When I was little, they didn't fight at all – at least, they were better at hiding it. Or maybe I got used to it. All I know is that I came back from a full year of being at Hogwarts without any fighting and then my parents could barely have a decent conversation without arguing.

And how could it be worse, you might ask?

My parents ceased speaking to each other indefinitely. They would be in the same room and not say a word at all – just sit there silently, awkwardly. I don't even think they were sleeping in the same room anymore. When I came home, they began speaking again – to me.

I was the mediator.

It was awful.

I couldn't believe the things my parents would say about each other. I avoided thinking about it when I could. Most of the time, I'd end up dodging my mum and dad, taking my broom and flying somewhere in the forest. I took a Quaffle sometimes and practiced my Chasing. Most of the time, I just flew around, biding my time and wishing I didn't have to go home and deal with this.

Letters from Rose was definitely the best part of my day. My friends weren't exactly into writing, much; mostly, we exchanged a couple of notes so we could figure out when we were hanging out. Her letters were comforting, even if they weren't really about much. I could tell she was happy, and it always made me smile.

And _that's _about the time I knew I liked her.

Bloody perfect, don't you think?

I fancied the girl I'd picked on non-stop for the past five years. What, was I going to get a cat next? I don't think I'd ever truly fancied a girl before. I liked girls who liked me (and there were quite a few, mind you). I took them to Hogsmeade and snogged them at Madame Puddifoot's or Three Broomsticks – wherever they wanted to go. I wasn't picky.

It was so bloody _difficult_ to read Rose's feelings. I knew we were friends, but I always felt like she was holding something back. Or hiding something.

And yet, I felt like she was the person I could talk to about my parents. I hadn't told any of my other friends – probably because they wouldn't understand. Their parents were the kind that gave them gifts and sweets because they _cared_, not because they felt guilty. Their parents weren't always busy dealing with each other. They had normal parents, normal lives.

But what confused me was that Rose also had a normal life – a _huge_ family – and I told her. But I was so envious of her. I had a feeling some of her cousins hated her because of me. Perhaps I'd always been envious of her, and it was so easy to lash out at her when I saw all her cousins.

And yet, I found myself spilling the beans.

Right before we were about the leave for the holidays, I told her what I hadn't voiced out loud to anyone, not even my closest friends in Slytherin. I told her, indirectly, the real reason I'd been spending more time with her and didn't go to Hogsmeade and why I'd been feeling so shitty lately. I told her something that I was afraid to say out loud, because maybe then, it was going to come true.

It just felt that much more real to me.

And when I kissed her, I knew my feelings were real, too.

* * *

"Hey, Scorpius."

I spun around and scrambled off the windowsill, a hand leaping into my hair. Rose's lips twitched into a smile upon seeing my nerves. "Um. Hi."

"How were your holidays?" she asked, sitting down on the sill.

"Um, good." I mentally cringed. I was so articulate.

But could you blame me? We kissed the day before holidays started. The best kiss I'd ever had. It wasn't even a full-out snog, we just kissed, and it got my heart to speed really fast like in a Quidditch game. I walked her back to her common room and kissed her again, and the same, insanely amazing feeling happened again.

Then she left, and we hadn't written each other for the entire holidays.

_Awesome._

"Did you go home?" she asked. I shook my head.

"No, I stayed here for the holidays."

"Any news?"

"No."

She bit her lip and hesitantly put her hand on top of mine. "I'm really sorry about your parents, Scorpius."

"Me too."

"If you ever want to talk about it, you can talk to me."

I smiled. "Thanks, Rose."

* * *

We didn't talk about the kiss.

She didn't seem to be mad at me. She didn't seem to want to kiss me again. She blushed a lot, but honestly, most of the time she was just her normal self. It was me who was being driven absolutely mad by not knowing how she felt.

But Rose was the one who found me when I got the letter. The one that I knew was going to come eventually, and I was just biding my time – maybe trying to kid myself. She was the only other person who read it, and she was the one who held me and whispered her childhood stories to me and kept me calm all night when all I wanted to go was go to Hogsmeade and get smashed.

Divorce is something that you might be able to see coming, and for some people, when you see it approaching, you learn to accept it and try to deal with it. I wasn't that person. I was the guy who stayed in denial for four months until Easter. I was the guy who stayed numb while he moved half of his things into his mum's new home and the other half into his dad's new home. I was the guy who avoided the Malfoy Manor as much as he could and didn't say goodbye to his childhood home.

I was the guy who took it hard.

Rose helped me through that fit when I came back to school, too.

The rest of sixth year was spent on trying to resolve this issue with my parents and trying to get used to the fact that I didn't have parents who loved each other. When I say Rose and I didn't talk about the kiss, we talked about everything _but_ the kiss. We stayed up all night sometimes, way out on the Quidditch pitch, just talking about stuff.

It's funny when you think about it, how Rose Weasley became my best friend.

* * *

Spring of seventh year was when everything felt different.

It marked _two years_ of being nice to people. Two years of being friends with Rose. Two years ago, when I was beat up by three of her cousins – beat into my senses, maybe. Two years ago, when Rose asked me what was wrong with her, and I realized I'd done something horribly, horribly wrong.

And decided to fix it.

"I think we should celebrate," said Rose. I raised an eyebrow.

"Aren't you worried about NEWTs?" I asked.

"We can take a night off."

"We _can_? Ow!" I recovered from her small tap at the side of my head and grinned at her, putting down my books in the grass. It was actually a nice day in April, and we'd decided to go outside to study. Clearly, it brought on odd, non-studying tendencies in Rose.

We had to go outside more often.

"So how do you want to celebrate?" I asked, lying down next to her. She folded down the page in her textbook and put it aside before turned to me. She was smiling, and I was reminded again of how I should just pluck up the courage and kiss her again.

And then actually talk about it this time.

"I dunno," she said, shrugging. "Kitchens?"

"We always go to the kitchens."

"But there's ice cream cake in the kitchens."

"True," I said, laughing. Rose definitely had a sweet tooth. "What are we celebrating, anyway?"

"One year."

"One year of what?"

"Or two years."

"Of _what_?" I asked impatiently.

She thought for a second. I couldn't tell if it was on purpose to infuriate me, or she was actually just thinking it over. "I think a lot of things have happened in the past couple of years."

I nodded. "Yeah. That's true."

"I know for myself, I've really come a long way from who I used to be," she said softly. I understood; she told me a lot about how she felt before we became friends. It made me feel horrible, but she tried to reassure me that I was a huge part of how far she came from being the scared, helpless person she used to be.

"You'll make it through anything," I told her.

She smiled. "I think you've come a long way, too."

"I'm nice to people, now!" I said, laughing.

"Yeah, you are," she said, "but you're more than that, you know?"

"I am?"

"I know you took your parents' divorce really hard," she explained gently, "but you made it through. You understand people better, now. I think you've really... I dunno –"

"Matured?" I suggested.

Rose nodded, biting her lip. "And we still have a long way to go. In the world outside Hogwarts." She looked up at the sky, as though it would give her answers. I could tell she was nervous.

"Life wouldn't be a bitch if she didn't screw everyone over," I said, shrugging.

She laughed. I loved that sound.

Hell, I loved everything about her. Her laugh, her eyes, the way she got cranky in the morning, how sweet she was, how she focused she was when she was studying, how she never took Quidditch seriously (though it was admittedly annoying, sometimes), how she told me how she snuck more books out of the Hogwarts library than was actually allowed.

But don't you dare tell her I said that. I wouldn't hear the end of it.

"Ministry's going to be tough," she said. We were both going for training – me, in the sports department, her in the magical law enforcement department. "I hope I don't get kicked out on the first day."

I snorted. "You won't."

"Unless I throw up on their shoes."

"Or arrest them by accident."

She laughed. "How do you arrest a person by accident?"

"I'm sure you'll find a way," I said, grinning. "They may arrest you if you wear the glasses, though."

"Shut up," she retorted, pushing at my shoulder. "Contacts are annoying to wear all the time."

"Excuses."

"They are!"

"Don't worry, Rose," I told her, not really knowing what I was saying. "You look…"

The words caught in my mouth and she froze, blinking at me with her big, brown eyes. I pushed her fringe back, leaning in closer. This was it. I had to kiss her. I couldn't chicken out this time. Her breath hitched just as I pressed my lips to hers.

Fuck.

The whole feeling when it's like you're on top of the world? That didn't go away.

If I was remembering correctly, it was even more intense than the last time. I pressed closer to her, my hand gripping at her waist to pull her against me. She sighed softly against my lips, tentatively wrapping her arms around the back of my neck. I felt like there was buzzing, like someone had cast _muffliato_ around us and we were the only ones in the world.

She was the one who pulled away.

"You were my first kiss, you know," she whispered, biting her lip. "Last Christmas. When you kissed me on the windowsill."

I kissed her again. "Why didn't we ever…"

"I dunno." Rose blushed. "I guess I just figured, at the time… you needed a friend more."

"I guess you're always right," I teased, kissing along her jaw.

"I guess so."

"Rose," I said, straightening a little, trying to speak seriously, "I know I'm not the nicest person around, and I was horrible to you, but I really…" I trailed off, trying to shake off my nerves. Instead, I kissed her again.

"You like me?" she asked teasingly.

"A bit," I admitted, and she giggled as I kissed her nose. "Be my girlfriend?"

"I dunno." She traced her finger along my jaw. "It's a little risky."

"Life's all about risks."

"True." She looked into my eyes. "But I trust you, Scorpius."

"You do?"

"Yeah." She smiled and leaned over to kiss me. "We all have to mature sometime."


End file.
